


Pyriscence

by Darkstarling



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Espionage, Gen, Mad Science, Omnic Rights, Time Shenanigans, the crossover no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-10-11 07:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkstarling/pseuds/Darkstarling
Summary: The world's most brilliant and least ethical scientist comes to London for reasons of her own. The world's greatest spymaster wishes he could simply have her killed. Tracer just wants to spend time with her girlfriend.No one is going to get what they want.





	1. At My Chamber Rapping

~~Moira~~

It has never been my preference to see to matters personally. I am above all a scientist, and secondly an administrator. If your subordinates are too witless to carry out day to day tasks, there is no point to the trials of putting up with them. Sycophants and toadies are for the incompetent. Some of us can afford standards.

Unfortunately, there are times when there is simply no one else qualified to the task at hand. Brilliance has its burdens. And that is how I found myself walking the streets of the barbaric wasteland known as London. Well, we must all make sacrifices in the name of science.

It was an entirely typical dreary English day, the kind that made me want to flee to Iraq and never look back. The drizzle and clouds of autumn had a certain chemistry with the disgustingly primitive urban desolation of what they dared call a ‘high class’ neighborhood. And the result managed to distill all the worst qualities of these benighted isles while preserving none of their charms. 

For god’s sake, even Busan has optical rain screens for typhoon season. But that was the English for you. Medieval in government, medieval in technology, medieval in culture. In any proper city I’d have been identified by facial recognition and arrested hours ago. But they insisted on stubbornly clinging to the past, and this wretched mess was the result. 

I sneered as I passed a sign on a restaurant proclaiming that Omnics were built only to serve. The sad part is I’m sure someone thought they were being very clever. They really were making this too easy.

And so it was with happy thoughts of ecological succession and pyriscence that I turned down a side street and came to an innocuous, varnished oak door. There was no doorknob or sign, simply a knocker in gold. This, I presume, gave the members of the Diogenes Club a pretension of exclusiveness and class. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, or to make an unannounced appearance through the servant’s entrance three doors down, and knocked. 

At least the company would make up for the circumstances.

The door was opened immediately by the butler. He could have been an omnic from his deadpan expression, and I found myself mildly impressed. Most people find a six foot tall woman in a suit to be a remarkable sight, even before they see the interface implants. 

“Good evening Ma’am” he said, nodding politely. 

“Good evening Richard,” I replied, “Mr. Holmes is expecting me.” I was amused as his eyebrows raised a fraction. It wasn’t as if we had ever met, but I do my homework. It’s the little details that really make an impression. 

“Of course, Ma’am. He told me to invite you up when you arrived.” 

Not that I’d told him I was coming, or even that I would be in the country. But I’d expected this. I’m not the only one who knows about impressions, after all.

“Of course he did. How large a window did he give you?”

“Ma’am?”

“The arrival window. Was it fifteen minutes?”

“An hour, ma’am.”

“Hmm, he’s slipping.”

Or rather he guessed that I would use a random number generator to delay my arrival. He really is very good. I smiled to myself as Richard escorted me up the stairs and into Mycroft’s private meeting room. Conversations with equals are rare and to be treasured. Especially with enemies. Through conflict do we evolve, as Akande is so fond of saying. 

“Doctor O’Deorain. Quite charmed to finally make your acquaintance in person. Thank you Richard, that will be all.”

“Mr. Holmes,” I replied, as Richard vanished with an alacrity that would make a talon agent envious. “The pleasure is mine, of course.”

I take a seat opposite him, this unassuming little man with a brain that can outperform the analytics gestalt on a terradyne server farm. I really do need to see if I can get a genetic sample from him while I’m in the room. But that can wait. Business first.

“You do realize, of course, the sensitive situation you have put me in by coming to this country.”

“I do. There is no chance of my diplomatic immunity being respected, I take it?”

“I’m afraid not, the situation is out of my hands. Should you be discovered it will result in your arrest rather than an awkward encounter with a sniper, but that is all I can promise.”

I nodded. I suspected as much.

“And yet here you are. So I have to ask, what are your intentions?”

I smirked at that.

“You have to ask?”

“Yes, do rub it in. But I am quite serious. You know perfectly well how much of a powder keg London is at the moment. We may have worked together in the past, but one of Talon’s inner circle entering the country is a matter of enormous concern. It is only your immediate visit that leaves us able to have a polite and above all unofficial conversation.”

“I don’t suppose you’d believe I missed my home? No.” I steepled my fingers and looked at him directly. “I am here in my capacity as Genetics Minister of Oasis, not as a Talon Council Leader. Talon has no immediate interest in London, our projections indicate that collapse is already inevitable within eleven months at the outside. We have more pressing concerns.”

“Your models are pessimistic, especially with regard to psychohistorical breakpoints. We’ve spoken before about your tendency to be drawn to the main chance and disregard the extraordinary.”

I scoffed. “Invoking miracles, Mr. Holmes?”

“Merely observing that this is the age for them,” he shrugged eloquently. “And I’m sure you see the irony of long term predictive analytics in an organization dedicated to chaos.”

“Ever the optimist.” I smirked to myself. The future, broadly speaking, might be a dancing forest of probability trees. But in the case of London, those probabilities had the inevitable weight of piled deadwood and undergrowth in the summer heat. 

“You know, there are a number of people who would be quite amused to hear you say that.” He stood and walked to the fireplace, the dramatic framing casual enough that it could almost have been accidental. To my surprise his voice was tired. “I am of course doing all I can, in the face of the rising tide. And I am well aware that should I become too successful you will will do the same. Frankly, I should have had you eliminated a long time ago. Net benefits to our partnership aside, it’s inevitably going to come to that one day.”

“Yes,” I agreed. It really was a shame. But he would never share our ideals, and brainwashing would destroy his mind. I’d rather burn the Mona Lisa. “But it doesn’t have to be today.”

He paused for a moment, then let out a sigh.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” I politely pretended not to notice the taps to the transceiver on his wrist calling off the strike team. He politely pretended not to notice me release the garotte woven into my sleeve. “So what, as Oasis Minister of Genetics, are you here to offer?”

“Well isn’t it obvious? Our best intelligence on Talon activity in Southeast Asia and the Philippines.”

Mycroft’s laughter broke the tense moment. I couldn’t blame him. Everyone needs a good laugh after seriously considering killing a friend.

“Well, with such a difficult to obtain resource how could I say no?”

“Well, there is always Vishkar. I know how your agents like their toys.” He chuckled again, and I joined him. Vishkar’s technology was impressive, but their R&D team was notoriously as leaky as a sieve. “Or,” I continued casually, “if none of those interest you, I suppose we could always give you our insights into to that conspiracy you're so fascinated by. What did you decide to name your task force for it again? Project Sauron.”

Mycroft froze. Oh how I live for moments like that.

“After all,” I continued innocently, “I do know Sombra. I have access to her research. Combining it with your own intelligence assets to get a true insight into the meta-conspiracy behind world affairs? It could be a real game changer. Almost… miraculous.” 

He’s staring now, but not at me. He’s in his own internal world. He knows I’m serious. Costs and benefits spin, what I know and what it might change. What I might do. But to the chilly logic of the spymaster, the result is inevitable. 

“And in exchange, you wish to conduct your research in London.”

“Unfettered research. No supervision, no interruption. My experiments will not be public, I will perform or organize no attacks. And should I be discovered I will immediately flee. And in exchange you will have full access to both Sombra and Oasis’s research into this conspiracy. And the results of my research, as a bonus.”

He knows how I work. He knows that there will be a body count to this decision, however discreet and unnoticed. But it may give him the edge to stem the tide, and build up his sand castles a little higher. 

So.

“Very well.” He sounds so tired again. I felt moved by uncharacteristic sympathy and stood to put my hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright you know, Holmes,” I said. “You’re too obsessed with heroes in this country. The kingdom does not stand or fall by your choices, and it is hardly your burden alone. We’re all replaceable, even me.”

He lets out a snort, mirthless this time. “Yes, with five times the staff and seven times the budget.”

“Seven? You flatter me. But come, let’s talk about something lighter. I’ve sent along a gift for your brother’s friend. They should be receiving it shortly.” 

He gives me a sharp look. But it really wasn’t a threat. Not exactly. Just a reminder, in case he was reconsidering.

“What? L2 Cyberdyne leg prosthetics was a rough deal even for a veteran. A cutting edge device directly from Oasis clinical trials will do him a world of good.” 

“Indeed. Well, since I believe we have concluded our business, I think you should leave.”

“Of course. A pleasure as always.” I stood to find Richard holding the door open. We really do need to look into recruiting him. “Oh and by the way… Project Sauron? A conspiracy with a slitted eye for a symbol, and that’s what you choose to call it. You English do love your classics don’t you.”

He knows me well enough to take that as the barb it is.

“They do have their place, even in this day and age. ‘There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it…’”

He knows. Damn.

“And it’s morals aren’t worth what a pig could spit, and it goes by the name of London.” I finished the quotation with a sneer to cover up my reaction. My business was indeed with the Omnic community in the London Underground. But I had hoped to keep that to myself until I was well gone from this wretched, wretched city.

“In that case, it seems we should concern ourselves with the diet of the pig.” He was smiling again, damn him. “Good afternoon my dear.”

I nodded too curtly and turned to stalk down the stairs. I had my mind, my permissions, an unlimited budget, and promises to keep. Not to mention the bonus of a small genetic sample plucked from his shoulder. Through conflict do we evolve. Well. We’d certainly see wouldn’t we.


	2. Many Ways of You

~~Andrea~~

“And I want her favorite radio station. Yes, you heard me right. Surely such a thing isn’t beyond your abilities? If I told you, I’d have to kill you. Now get to work.”

I looked up from my tablet, where I had been busy coordinating agent communications, to glance at the boss. Mycroft was pacing, had been ever since his meeting with that Moira woman. Worse than that, he’d progressed beyond his usual snark to actual peevishness. Course, he was always in a state after circumstances had forced them to work together. And there was nothing he despised more than a competent frenemy. But never this bad. Then again, he’d never met her in person before either.

“Planning a date sir?” I asked, before returning to relaying messages. One perk of my job is he can’t actually afford to fire me.

“Not in the slightest.” He stopped pacing, and glowered into thin air. That was never a good sign. “What an absolutely wretched woman. At least blackmail has a certain honesty to it.”

I nodded noncommittally as I kept working. Word about a Talon defector active as a vigilante in Cuba. More leaks from Vishkar R&D, that I put to the back of the queue. Internal Meka reports on Gwishin force composition and adaptation, with notes on likely Omnium status and capacity. High priority. 

“What would you do, if you were her?” He asked suddenly.

“Kill you,” I replied instantly. He chuckled and gestured for me to continue. “Moira won’t break the strict terms of your agreement. A reputation for honesty is critical among successful criminals, and that describes both of you.” Another chuckle. Good, he’s lightening up. “But she has more than enough technical skill to arrange your death within those parameters. Maybe a targeted virus or something, doesn’t matter. But anything she makes here which incidentally kills you, without public notice, will meet all the criteria down to sharing her research. And you’re not exactly public.“

“I see. And what makes you so sure I will be the target of this hypothetical insidious abomination of science?”

“Well she has met you. But besides that, she knows you’re against her, and the only one who can stop her. One of the few,” I corrected myself as he frowned. “I don’t see leaving you as a loose end for very long, no matter how sure Talon is of her predictions for London.”

I turned back to the dispatches as he turned inward in thought again. More leads on Jack Morrison, from three continents on the same day... I had gotten to the American cowboy gangs, which I still had to shake my head at no matter how many times I read about them, before he spoke again.

“Quite insightful as always,” he said, “but I think you may have failed to grasp the nature of our guest.” I looked up quizzically. “Moira O’Deorain is not an assassin, or a spy, or even much of a politician. She doesn’t have the pragmatism. She dabbles in these fields, and does well. But she is in truth that most dangerous of things.” 

And he turned his own tablet around to reveal a surveillance photo of her at work in the lab, a beatific smile on her face as a tiny creature pushed its way from an egg. It could have been mistaken for a chick, if you ignored the claws and tail.

“Moira O’Deorain is a romantic. Come on, we have work to do.”

~~Tracer~~

Emily and I were dancing along to the radio when I might have looked out the window. I didn’t of course. I was too swept up in twirling her in my arms and the bobbing of her hair and the flashes of her eyes and smile. It was really unlikely I could have brought myself to do anything else. But I might have. And if I had, I would have seen a street sweeper glance down a bit too quickly at my unexpected appearance. I might have seen him casually slip a camera back into his pocket. I frowned, just as a sharp dart of pain and confusion jammed itself into my skull.

The next thing I knew I was on the floor, Emily holding me, the beeping alert of my Chronal Stabilizer marking time as a dozen not-memories chased themselves through my brain. Diving straight out the window to confront them, making excuses to Emily and sneaking out to tail them like a will-o-the-wisp, telling her what I saw, brushing it off as nothing before taking her to bed. They all swirled as I struggled to focus on the here and now and the arms that were really, definitely around me.

Winston called them Flash Sides. Of course he tried to explain it with math and cats in a box, but the idea was simple enough. Chronon surges that let me see the might have beens. And of course they came with the obvious catch. The more it happens, the closer I am to disappearing again. After all, if you might have been anywhere you might as well be nowhere.

That’s the catch with chronon syndrome really. Not what powers does it give you, but how much you can afford to let your control slip.

I flickered a few more times, to more alarms from the Stabilizer. But I focused, pruning the paths of the future. I was safe now. There was nowhere else I was going to be. There was nowhere else Emily was going to be. We were here together until this was over. Time itself couldn’t argue with that. I leaned back into her with a sigh as the attack slowly passed, visions of nothing but the here and now until they faded away. It must have only been a minute, but it felt like an eternity. It always did.

“Thank you love,” I finally said as the world stopped trembling and the steady beeping died away.

“Of course,” she said. Like she hadn’t just been an anchor in the sea of time. And then she bent down to kiss my head.

“Ew, Em, I’m all sweaty now,” I protested, playfully batting her away. My voice was a bit weaker than I was happy with, and the feebleness of my defense was a bit more real than I’d have liked. But I was still genuinely smiling. There’s nothing like seeing your girlfriend will literally be there for you no matter what to remind you how much you love her.

“Mm, terrible. You know I can’t stand you sweaty.” She smiled back down, though her eyes were still worried. “Did you see anything you want to talk about?”

She didn’t add ‘with me?’ but I could still hear it, a faint echo in the air. The worst part was that it wasn’t an accusation. She really did understand how a life like mine has secrets. But that was no way to treat someone who trusted me that much. I thought of all my not-memories where I’d lied to her, pretended nothing was wrong, and I felt a knot of guilt in my chest.

Well, nuts to that. That might have been. This is.

“...Yeah. Yeah I think we have to. Em, I think some of my work followed me home. We’re being watched.”


	3. Such Mortal Drugs I Have

~~Emily~~

I helped Lena to the couch after the seizure passed. She tried to pretend she wasn’t leaning on me the whole way. And now she was sitting on it cross-legged like an imp. I’ve always loved that quirk of hers, she never can sit like a normal human being. But the cheeky grin that usually lights up her face was gone. I put my hand on her shoulder as I listened to her ramble and speculate about who might be spying on us. She looked so pale. I tried to keep the worry from my face as she pulled out her com to call Winston, and not wince at the forced pluck in her voice.

This isn’t what I expected my life to be. Some days it’s almost normal. Like dating a cop, or the veteran she pretends to be. It’s not easy, but it’s also not unique. Plenty of people empathize and know what I’m going through. Too many, after the war.

And then it’s a bad day, where you get a reminder that the only thing keeping your love from vanishing like a dream is a bit of experimental technology built by a gorilla from the moon. That she’s a vigilante who most world governments would arrest in a minute if what she really did on those ‘vacations’ came out. That she, personally, was top of the hit list for the most dangerous assassins in the world.

God, I love her. She’s a hero, and she doesn’t know how to be anything else. She’s kind and funny and for some reason she’s given me her heart. But it’s a world I don’t understand, and I don’t know how to help.

At least I can get her tea. I understand tea.

~~Moira~~

My workspace was crude. I expected nothing less, of course. But it was still disheartening to see the space Badger 29 had found for me. An underground chamber, with mismatched tiling in an off-putting shade of green. Off the rack shelving, virtually empty except for a scant collection of surgical tools. Hand tools. Not even a biotic emitter in sight. I couldn’t help it, I groaned and buried my face in my palm.

Badger 29’s servos whirred and clicked as he turned to me. “What’s wrong then?” He asked, the tinny sound of the speech synthesizer combining indescribably with an affected cockney accent.

“What’s wrong? You know perfectly well what’s wrong, Badger 29. I don’t put up with you for your good looks. I was promised a secure medical facility. This,” I indicated the room with a scornful wave of the hand “is not a medical facility. I would literally be better off in a medieval apothecary.” It was true. At least they would have scales and a glassworks.”

“Well all that’s coming, innit? But how were we to know what you’d need? You’re the genius here love. We’re just here to serve.”

It did not take a fine grasp of the local political vocabulary to recognize pitch-black sarcasm.

“Oh please,” I replied scathingly. “I’m not here for servants. I’m here for business, and I was under the _impression_ you were too. Don’t make me reassess our relationship.”

“Oh la de da. My apologies your lordship, you know how much I appreciate you coming down here and looking down on me and mine. We got your list, and it’ll be ready. When. It’s. Ready.” He punctuated each word with stabs of his finger. “Who exactly do you think you are? And don’t answer me with your name. Your name isn’t worth tin down here.”

Through his bluster I found myself fascinated with his hat. It was incongruous, a cloth bowler that stayed as vertical as a gyroscope despite his jerky motions. There must be micro-repulsors in the brim.

Still, I thought, I should probably deal with this. I had anticipated reticence, but not outright hostility. I looked him directly in the optics.

“You say my name isn’t worth tin. Well, that’s nothing new to me. Never mind that it should be worth platinum. People have looked down on me all my life. I’ve been condemned by fools who lack the skill to reproduce my results. Shunned by hypocrites who hated me for the work they demanded of me. Forced into the shadows by the fearful and jealous. I think you’d understand something about that.”

“You do like to talk. Things are tough all over.”

“They are” I agreed. I turned to pace the room. I knew I was preaching, but I honestly couldn’t have stopped myself for anything short of a firefight. Possibly not even that. “Look at this disaster of a country. Ill starred and determined to drag itself into the pit. They’ve literally taken their best people and buried them underground. And I expect you know as much as I do about being resented for giving them what they demand.”

I watched his head lights blink as he cocked his head at the change in topic. The hat remained vertical.

“You know what I came here to offer,” I continued. “And you know I can deliver. You know perfectly well that I am Moira O’Deorain, and exactly what that means for you. And I am not here for charity. I am here because this racist wasteland of a country disgusts me. Because it pleases me to put a thumb in the eye of the British Government that supports this medieval attitude. And I am here because I know your business, and I want you to succeed. We have a business arrangement to ensure that, and I will see it done.”

I turned and gestured grandly at the room.

“But I cannot _do_ that under these conditions! As you are perfectly aware. You wish to prove that this is your home, that you are not intimidated, that you will not bow to a foreign power? Fine, this is self-evident. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. So cut the petty power games. You win. I don’t want you to bow, _I want to get to work._”

I whirled on him at that, and he actually stepped back. Even in his omnic face I saw an expression I recognized. I saw it often, though never for long. The face of those who stand between me and science.

“Hey, it’s not just show love!” He said, still backing up. “We can move in most of it in a few hours but some of the stuff’s held up. Plasma and biotic infusers don’t just fall off a truck you know.”

“Oh is that all? Now we’re getting somewhere.” I called up the email application on my omnitool. “I don’t suppose you have any other black market operations, even tangentially connected to my work, that could use some pressure taken off?”

“What?”

“Think quickly, you have five minutes. Don’t act so surprised I know people. You _did_ know who you were working with.” I made no mention of tin, and neither did he. 

“You know, there is a certain fairy tale quality to this. The witch and the badger,” I mused as he passed me a holographic infopoint with the information. Mycroft would not be happy. Good.

“Witch?”

“Better, my curses work. But I have been called one. And, with my various enhancements, I could easily survive a ducking for forty-eight minutes before irreversible brain damage occurred. Not bad for an organic.” Four hours, eight minutes, forty seconds actually. Never reveal your full capabilities to shaky allies.

“Besides,” I continued, “think on our goal for a moment. Omnics walking the streets of London in the light of day.” I gave a dark chuckle. “Why, I’m practically the blue fairy.”


End file.
